


Too Late To Turn Back Now

by BethNoir



Series: A Revised Legacy [2]
Category: A Legacy of Spies, Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy (2011), Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy - All Media Types, Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy - John Le Carré
Genre: Anal Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It, Fluff and Smut, M/M, PTSD, Slow Burn, Snogging, first time in a long time, very slow burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-07-04 21:11:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15849432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BethNoir/pseuds/BethNoir
Summary: Jim Prideaux is invited back to a new friend's flat and finds more than he expected.





	Too Late To Turn Back Now

Jim was sat by the wall at the end of term party, as a matter of habit. The caravan was glacial in December and much as he’d prefer the solitude, the cold drove him indoors. The room droned with conversation and music at a more hurried pace than any of the Circus parties he’d attended. There was Lindsay, in a garish paisley and throwing herself at the usual trouble; sure to net something by night’s end. Coach Rudge was determined to chat up the young females about if Muriel McKay really had been eaten by pigs. And Deirdre had some shaggy haired relation, who for some reason beyond all comprehension, was staring at him. Jim looked away, not eager to make small talk about the weather or football or the usual subjects.

He didn’t dislike crowds; he was just used to blending into them. Learn the language, wear the clothes, and shed all trace of them before you scurry across the border. Now the whole point was to stand out, but with so many paired off among their friends, each person seemed like an obstacle instead of a potential introduction. They had friends to talk to, news to gossip over, and why would you bother them? He was already enough of a spectacle around the grounds. It was much better to sit. Easier to not be stared at if they didn’t know how tall you were and why you’d come alone.

A recent unhappy event at Thursgood’s was losing his prize watcher. Against all better judgment, Roach had been admitted and shipped off to Gordonstoun, and an appeal on his behalf had brought condemnation from both parent and headmaster. He could hardly lift his hand above his shoulder, what was he doing trying to fight for anyone else? A change in the lessons. That would shake things up for the little blighters, and maybe he’d do something about the caravan. For now, after a lifetime of watching the shadows, sitting alone and changing absolutely nothing about his life was most comfortable.

But for some reason, the shag was still looking at him as he sauntered through the crowd to come sit beside him.

“All right?”

 

They walked back to Andrew’s car under the pretense of grabbing a drink on the High Street. The Relsky had been depleted and Jim was suddenly self-conscious of the rat’s nest conditions of the caravan. The man made no comment, only suggested he drive on account of Jim’s back. He reminded him of Bill except Bill had complained the whole time back to his room. It made Jim feel like there was an evil to defeat that would put him at peace. This Andrew was laughing and chattering the whole way and was always fascinated by things. When asked about Scarborough’s proselytizing or Lindsay’s advances, he brushed it off and didn’t want to gossip about them, but promised he might be different after a drink. Andrew lit a cigarette and leaned on the gas as they turned onto the A358.

“Does Helena mind late night calls?” Jim asked. Andrew smiled and exhaled his cigarette smoke.

“Helena is a lovely mate from uni who is dearly devoted to her Maureen, but for family functions and such, we occasionally play man and wife to get the questions off our case. Last minute invite anyway and she’s two hours south.” Jim was surprised at how relieved he felt.

“A bal maiden of Bodmin?” Jim smirked, taking the risk of being clever.

“Oh Christ, and she thought I was hard to understand.” Andrew laughed. “Me from Bradford and her from Truro. Put a drink in our hands and imagine the conversation. Just talked over each other for a year until we worked out what the other was saying. Been thick as thieves after that.”

“Sounds like an old work mate of mine.”

“What’s she like?”

“Connie? Awful flirt. Good woman.”

“They all good to you?”

“Not good enough to persuade me.”

“I’m sure they tried.” Andrew smirked. Jim smiled in spite of himself. For all he knew, Andrew could be rough trade and this would be an unceremonious end to all the ruin of his life. The obituary would be just as ripe for gossip as Leamas’ back in ’65. Nothing like a stranger to make Jim remember his Sarratt training. Jim felt eyes on him and turned to see Andrew look away. He almost seemed shy.

They pulled up on the pub to discover it was closed for the night, leaving Andrew to grumble an elongated “arse”.

“Yours then?” Jim asked, feeling forward.

“Sure. I’ve got some bottles rattling around.” Andrew grinned and pulled the car around.

They found parking and lumbered back to the flat with Andrew going on about Arsenal as they reached a door wedged between the launderette and a camera shop. The key stuck in the frozen lock but after a sharp twist of the knob, Andrew wedged it open.

Andrew stepped into the hall and reached for something. Jim followed and closed the door behind him. Andrew startled. Jim tensed, but Andrew was only holding the post. No weapon. The entry was dark and cramped with only the staircase that lead to the first floor. Andrew flitted eyes up and down him. Jim wondered if he was nervous Jim would try something, or if he somehow was attracted to what he saw. But what would a young one see in him?

“Just up here.” Andrew gestured to the stairs and walked up, glancing back at Jim to see if he’d follow.

The bedsit was modest, but comfortable. It had come furnished, all the way down to the economy curtains. The kitchen cupboards and appliances were all against one wall and the toilet was shoved into a space the size of a cupboard. Packing boxes were stacked everywhere but the bed, which was shoved against the windows that faced the street. The night table had a lamp, and a box of random items, from a tube of aspirin tablets to a jar of Vaseline.

“Not much, but it’ll do.” Andrew said. He held out a hand and Jim took his offer to take his coat. The man was a mess with his own possessions, but had his manners for guests. Andrew hung the coat up and started rifling through boxes.

“It’s not much for space, but if you don’t mind Spartan life, it’ll do. The one upstairs might open up since the couple’s usually having a row, but that’s married types for you. A-ha!” Andrew emerged triumphantly with a bottle of Old Crow. “Clever me. Thought I’d drunk it all.” Jim gingerly sat on the trunk at the end of the bed.

“Need a hand?” Andrew asked.

“All right. Bad back.”

“I can move some things off the sofa.”

“No, no, don’t trouble yourself. Soon as I lean back, I’m down for the night. What do you smoke?” Andrew extended his pack of Gold Flakes. Jim nodded in gratitude as Andrew lit the ciggie for him. “What keeps you busy now?” Jim asked as Andrew leaned against the kitchen table.

“Had some funds saved up before I left, but I don’t like being idle. Nightlife’s always hiring and seems the one down the street could use another pair of hands.” Andrew lit a cigarette for himself. “But if you can believe it, I was an actor for awhile.”

“Go on.”

Andrew regaled him with his time in the company of Manchester’s Library Theatre before giving London a go and finding himself better suited to behind a bar. An artist and a talker. It reminded him too much of Bill. The thoughts of him were no longer the steady drone of memory that played over and over until he knew every groove and nook of what had happened and still made no sense of it. It came now in flashes of anger that appeared when he was minding his business or going to the shops when his mind would suddenly piece an event together and make sense of when a lie was told or a secret kept.

The last time he went to a man’s home, he’d left to be shot and tortured in the Lubyanka, because the fellow thought it beneath himself to wield the knife that would stab him in the back. Much easier to let his friends shoot him. He’d told George he hadn’t meant for Jim to be shot, but that is a circumstance when you’re being captured. Why him of all people? Jim still wanted to persuade himself that when you saw the evidence of someone’s behavior and how they treated all around them, that it would never happen to you too.

“You go up in your head sometimes?” Jim snapped out of his thoughts and looked up at Andrew. He was looking at him so softly again. The man who’d shimmied across a school dance floor to shamelessly flirt with him now looked as shy as Jim had felt by the wall.

The appropriate thing to do would be to excuse himself, say he must get back to school, he could walk it from here, it was only a few miles, but to Jim’s own surprise, the last thing he wanted to do was leave. There was no prying glean in the younger man’s eye; only kindness.

“Sometimes,” Jim confessed. Andrew smiled, like he wasn’t the only person who did that. He picked up the bottle and offered to top off his glass. Jim held it out as he poured.

“For five years,” Andrew recalled, “I was completely mad for a total bastard, whose name I dare not speak, and even though I was treated like the goddess I am and we agreed it would never be anything serious no matter what was said under cover of night fall…” Andrew thought about topping his own glass off, but thought better of it, “…neglected to mention there was a marriage and children up in Sheffield.” He shrugged, as anyone does when trying to convince themselves the broken heart is now mended. “And as soon as I breathed word of it…” He waved a hand in the air. “Gone. Like a ghost in a hurricane. So, we’ll drink to Deirdre for coming to my rescue. Needed to get out of London anyways. Even if this is the sticks.”

“Was there other trouble?” Jim asked.

“No I was just…on the floor.” Andrew flexed his hands and massaged his knuckles. Jim realized he must have started shaking. “I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t eat. Because what did I do?” Andrew shrugged, smiled, and took a moment to collect himself. “Heartbreak gets sold as an exclusive of teenage girls, and here I am, middle aged, reasonably butch, and absolutely gutted.” Andrew stared at the floor, lips pressed together and eyes wide in attempt to stave off tears. But he still laughed. “It was stupid. Should have pulled myself together. But why seek someone out and lie about that? Like fitting the straight standard makes him a cut above the rest or summat?”

“You don’t deserve that.” Jim said. Andrew shrugged it off, eager to not think about it.

“What’s your story?” he asked. Jim thought long and hard of what to say and how to share because even if there weren’t volumes of paperwork he’d had to sign at Sarratt, as fucking Percy Alleline screed in his ear of the legal ramifications if he violated said paperwork after being shot for Queen and Country because of the treacherous machinations of Karla’s office boy, putting Bill’s hideous sins into words were too much to fit in his mouth.

“He lied.” Jim said. “A lot.” Four words in two sentences. Each word coated in iron and hit the floor with a shuddering weight. The immensity of confessing this to a total stranger. He mentioned Bill before in passing to students, to parents. “Always a good’un.” He’d said, but the more time passed and the more he thought, after conversations with George about his Ann and Jim about his Bill, the full scale of it finally sank in. It was so heavy a weight no wonder the only place treason could be kept was in the lowest pit of Hell.

“I’m sorry,” said Andrew. “How long were you with him?”

“Thirty six years,” Jim sighed. What a strange number. Did any partners last for so long? Andrew said nothing so Jim looked up. The younger man was staring into space, shaken that anyone could be together, let alone lie to someone for that long. A younger person would denounce him as a bastard and how Bill should have been grateful to have someone as Jim, but age and experience makes you feel more deeply how nerve-sensitive it feels to have a majority of your life and trust violated.

“Not quite a pensioner but on my way.” Jim wasn’t often quippy anymore. It was something that Bill would have laughed at.

“Go on, you’re not that old.”

“Helped retake Italy when I was younger than you.”

“Well, look at me pulling a war hero.” Andrew grinned. “And I’m over here mooning over some tosser in Sheffield of all places.” He went to drink, but paused. “Hang on, if you were in the war, you’ll be…?”

“Sixty-one in June.”

“Christ. You are fit.” He whistled. “Is there some portrait of you in an attic somewhere?”

“Canadian Air Force basic exercises. Can’t let a bad back turn me into a pepper pot.”

“And you can do all that in the caravan?”

“Designed for small spaces and short times.”

“I should get on that. Or keep smoking.”

“Aye, that does the trick too.” Jim didn’t know why Andrew kept his distance. Was he shy or plotting something?

“What was he like? If that’s all right…”

“Very unhappy.” Jim had said all this before to Connie, and even a tea with George after Karla had crossed into West Berlin and there was time to breathe. Something about saying it all now made it sound final. Banging the coffin nails in, but you still needed time to grieve.

“Standard Oxbridge type?”

“More or less.”

“I went to Hull.” Jim laughed at this. If this was a ploy, it was a long one. The fellow looked more nervous than eager, and when was the last time anyone looked at him like that?

“Is it your type, the broken things?” Jim asked.

“Not on purpose…” The phone rang. Andrew grimaced and got up to answer it. “…but I prefer to help mend than break.”

“Good man.” Jim smiled. Andrew grinned and picked up the receiver.

“Hullo? Aye, it’s me…no, I don’t think so…well, how about you mind your business and I’ll let you know in the morning, yeah?...Grand…No, no I won’t. Piss off, please. Love you too.” Andrew hung up, picked up the phone, deposited the whole thing in a desk drawer, and shut it. He looked apologetic.

“Deirdre.”

“Does she know?”

“About? Oh. Ah, yeah…” Andrew mumbled. Jim was only going to ask if Deirdre knew his inclination, not that Jim was at his flat, but he realized the concern had been answered for him. Here came the set-up he’d been expecting, but Andrew looked very apologetic. Like he knew Jim would be feeling delicate about it.

“I bet her a tenner I could get you away from the wall,” Andrew raised a hand before Jim could start. “And I will tell her you were a very thoughtful young man, who politely declined my awful queer intentions, but agreed to a drink, and we spent all night talking about your lovely departed wife and my awful ex-boyfriend, and I was very happy to hear that she had such a kind friend at such a dull school.”

“I’m sorry to put you out ten pounds,” Jim said with a smile. Andrew shrugged.

“Doesn’t bother me none.” Andrew smiled back. Jim didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t believe his luck. And Andrew looked very bashful all of a sudden

“What?”

“I’m nervous.”

“What for?”

“That I got you all the way back to my flat and I’ve put you off.” Andrew mumbled. Jim surprised himself at the feeling of want that returned to him. Like thinking an old car was meant for scrap, but the right touch turns the engine over.

“I’m not put off.” Jim’s voice was darker than he meant it. He just wanted to be reassuring, but it seemed to stir something in Andrew.

“Can I kiss you?”

Jim grinned and bit his lip to try and stop it. He must look ridiculous. But Andrew stood up, and crossed over to him. He hesitated, for a moment that felt like an age, but Jim was still startled when Andrew cupped his face, leaned down, and kissed him. Even more startled at how much he reacted to it. Thought he’d be nerves and recoiling, like no-one had ever touched him before, like he never had a lover of thirty years. And here was someone who didn’t know how long he was used to cold and discomfort but thought to himself, _don't you deserve something warm?_

Jim reached up to pull him closer and Andrew bent down to straddle him. Andrew kissed him again. And again. He wanted to kiss him. When was the last time anyone had wanted to kiss him? Pulls and rent boys never wanted you, only someone to get them to climax. Bill was still a mystery that would probably take another thirty years to figure out if he ever truly loved him. And who could say of all the old memories of Strasbourg. But here was someone who wanted to crawl inside his head and trousers and smiled wider and moaned a little louder when he kissed him.

“I understand if you want to get back, but I would really,” Andrew kissed him, “really like it,” and again as he unbuttoned his shirt, “if you stayed. I’ll drive you back in the morning. We’ll tell Deirdre you slept on the floor.”

“Or you were a good Christian who let an old sod like me have the bed on account of my back.”

“Is that the real reason you agreed to a drink?”

“No I honestly thought I was bringing you to the caravan.”

“And have me bend over the card table?”

“I hadn’t thought that far ahead.” Jim laughed, and moaned suddenly when Andrew slipped a hand down his trousers.

“That okay?”

“Oh god, fuck, I thought you’d never…”

“Did you think I was just being polite?”

“Yes?”

“I try to be a thoughtful lover.”

“You’ll do something about those trousers of yours, then.” Andrew chose to latch onto Jim for another lusty kiss, and Jim didn’t even care about the damp moustache hairs that clamped to his lips. He unfastened the bell bottoms to get him started and Andrew stepped back to peel them down his thighs, losing track of his thoughts as Jim stared at him from the bed.

He was fit. Gone a little soft with age, but unless you had a strict diet and exercise regiment and avowed all drink, that was going to happen anyway. He left his shirt open to show he was hairy from his chest to his dark nipples and all the way down his belly and legs. The thin curtains kept them decent from anyone on the street, but let in enough light for Jim to see.

Jim hesitated to touch him. When would the trick be revealed? How many honeypots had been set for Circus agents that revealed themselves before, during, and after the act? Was it better to at least get a shag in before he was killed? What about the awful possibility that Karla had forgotten about him, the whole business was forever in the past, and now everything was plain and unremarkable, except this fortune of a gorgeous young man who wanted to see his body?

Jim ran his fingertips up through the hair on Andrew’s legs, and ran his hand around the back of his thigh, just under his arse. Jim pressed his face against his thick leg, just to breathe in the scent of him. The act made Andrew shudder from want and run his hands behind Jim’s head. He didn’t pull his head towards him like self-centered lovers. Andrew just wanted to hold him. And Jim felt so selfish and proud of himself for the tent in his pants. There was always something so pleasing on seeing a lover in near undress with evidence of their attraction because you were the one to create it.

 _What a way to go_ , Jim thought. Stabbed, shot, garroted, or strangled but Karla had the decency to send someone handsome for a final tryst. An apology for Bill?

“Not playing at anything.” Andrew murmured. “Just thought you were dreadfully handsome. And maybe as lonely as I can be sometimes.” Andrew stepped back to peel off the rest of his trousers. The denim clung to his thick thighs like wet swim trunks before they dropped round his ankles. How did anyone fit into those things? Another delay as Andrew seemed to wonder if he’d put off his guest. Then he hooked his thumbs in the elastic band and shucked off his y-fronts.

Very kind of Karla.

“No secret plot. No bets from colleagues about your status. Just you. You did this. The affect you must have on people,” Andrew grinned and invited himself to straddle Jim again and resume kissing him, his hands on his face and Jim’s arms looped around his waist.

“I’m a bit out of form,” Jim admitted.

“Doesn’t matter. Let me…can I?” Andrew asked.

Jim was still very dressed and let Andrew peel his jumper off on account of his bad back, and lazily pushed his trousers down as Andrew crawled over him and eased him back on the bed. They laughed, with all the sweet awkwardness of figuring out a new body and soul.

It was like Oxford all over again.

And that undid it. Jim was out of the flat and up in his head thinking about Bill and if he was ever a whole person he saw outside of immediate gratification or just a resource to fill his need. And all the snogging that he needed suddenly stopped. Only because Jim realized Andrew had stopped.

“You all right?” Andrew asked. Jim nodded. No vocal confirmation. He wasn’t all right. “I can drive you back.”

“If it’s all right with you, I’d rather stay.”

“Good. I’d rather that too.” Andrew stood to get something. Jim felt like a complete knob. What was he doing pushing away the first good thing to happen in years? Jim hoisted himself up off the bed. Andrew turned, a touch startled, and maybe expecting the same thing Jim had feared. Only for Jim to hold him and kiss him, a long tender gesture to reassure the both of them that things were fine.

“I don’t mean to be ungrateful,” Jim murmured.

“You’re not.”

“There’s a lot I…” _can’t tell you won’t tell you don’t even know how to put into words for myself._

“Don’t have to explain.” Andrew’s hands had rested on Jim’s hips, but now looped around his back to lazily hold him. “I just kept thinking you were going to hit me or summat.”

“Seriously?”

“Is that awful?”

“Only that I was thinking the same thing.” They laughed.

“Spend enough time around teenage boys and how they talk with their fists?”

“Or the grown men they become and know not much changes.” Such a pity of how many ungrateful children and men there were today. How much time was spent figuring out how to live a long life in the shadows and now that they could live openly, the multitude of selfish scared people that tried to drive them back in.

It was awfully nice to have the privacy of a flat over the caravan. The tin can of a vehicle would shake if you so much as sneezed. Couldn’t imagine doing anything this much fun in there. And this fellow did not mind at all that he got to take his time kissing him. Only thing that felt better was Andrew’s lingering erection pressed against his, and his hands cupped around his arse, holding them together as they lazily kissed.

“Try again in the morning?” Jim asked.

“I was thinking the chip shop up the road first. Then you teach me some old Strasbourg tricks?”

“I’ll have to jog my memory.”

“I’ll do what I can to help.” Andrew kissed him again, unbuttoning Jim’s shirt as he went and rolling it off his stiff shoulders.

“Leave the vest on?” Jim asked. Andrew didn’t ask the questions clearly on his mind but nodded. When Jim turned to get into bed, he heard a sharp inhale from Andrew. The wounds had healed, infection had passed, but the entry wounds still left thick lumpy scarring. The vest hadn’t covered as much of it as he’d liked. Jim turned, expecting a disgusted look, and not expecting a concerned one.

“You want the duvet or do you overheat as I do?” Andrew asked, changing the subject before they spoke about it.

“I’m all right.” Jim got under the sheets as Andrew clambered over and got into bed.

“God, I’m knackered.” Andrew exhaled. Jim wanted to explain, because even though he had been chatted up at random, invited back to a stranger’s flat, and properly snogged for the first time in years, there was still the concern of _now_ he’s been put off. But Andrew spoke first.

“I have seen enough war wounds in my day to know to mind my business about it,” he said. “And to not approach someone with that from behind lest you get an elbow in the face. Or send someone spiraling into bad memories.” He rubbed his knuckles on Jim’s chin. “You’re fine, love.”

All thought went out of his head and all that remained was want. Jim was glad Andrew was to his left so his good arm could reach out and pull him in for a deep and selfish kiss. Andrew was more than happy to reciprocate.

“Thought we were going again in the morning?” Andrew grinned.

“Suppose I said that.” Jim pulled him in closer.

“Am I that much of a dish?” Andrew asked, swinging a leg over Jim to sit on top of him.

“Christ, yes.” Jim gripped his thighs. Andrew sat back and lazily moved his hips around, not at all sorry about how good he looked. Especially since he could feel Jim getting harder. The jar of Vaseline by the bed made itself useful and Jim helped himself to coat his fingers.

“Typical old man. You’re going to have me do all the work while you lie there and enjoy yourself?” Andrew smirked, already feeling comfortable sassing him a little as he took himself in hand and lazily stroked to show off. Jim’s riposte was to ease his middle finger inside him, making Andrew moan loudly and crumple over, pleading with him to keep going.

“Your taste in men, love. Should have left me by the wall,” said Jim, easing a second finger in and pulling them back and forth to open him up. Andrew was collapsed over his chest, shaking from need and nerves, and looking at Jim with such adoration. The look between them had an understanding that this would be the first of many nights and what to come of the morning.

“Very,” Andrew gasped, as he forced himself to sit back up, “very glad, I didn’t.” With that, he took Jim’s prick in hand, and eased him inside. Andrew sat down onto him with an unrepentant moan and Jim saw stars.

 

Jim didn’t last the week. He put a word in at school that he’d found accommodation in town. There was an offer to donate the old camper to the school, but with Thursgood content to keep the image that he was not pilfering funds, he declined such charity. On a Tuesday, the caravan was unceremoniously hauled off for scrap, and it joined the story of the silver mine, the Roman fort, and its creation by bomb. Who knew what legend would spring forth from it next…

**Author's Note:**

> There will be a part three. This is a fix-it for A Legacy of Spies because god damn it Mr. LeCarre, you're going to make me read about Peter Guillam's geriatric sexual conquests, and then do that to Jim? (The beginning is terrific, the tie-in with Alec Leamas is great, but the rest is all wtf.) Part three will feature more established characters from the canon. Scout’s honor.
> 
> Andrew looks like Luke Evans from High Rise. I cannot decide if Jim looks like Mark Strong, Ian Bannen, or David Haig since they keep rotating in my head. Player's choice!
> 
> Muriel McKay was a real woman who was horribly murdered. This is really fun to learn about when it’s part of a long West End play and you are very jetlagged in the stalls. Give it a Google.
> 
> Took a care to keep the conversation with them somewhat ambiguous as what tends to happen when you’re trying to figure out if someone likes you, and what you have to go through in figuring out if it's safe to be yourself around another potentially queer person. PTSD is a son of a bitch.
> 
> Title from Cornelius Bros and Sister Rose because disco rules.


End file.
